Count Your Blessings
by Leni
Summary: Life at the Dark Castle. Set during 1x12 "Skin Deep."


_Written for **katleept **at **Comment Fic Livejournal**._

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><p><strong>COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS<br>**

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><p>He is a strange master. Once too heartless, once caring enough, always a devious sing-song swagger to his step.<p>

"Did you polish the silver?" he'll ask.

She remembers the grimy film that had covered the surface of every platter, the dust that would blow into her nose with every breath. "Yes."

"Goodie!" His smile is always a little bit forced, even when his amusement seems sincere, as if he's one step outside of himself. "That means we'll have a decent meal for once."

That's how she comes to eat at his table, not because he asked (she does not believe he remembers how to _ask_, anyway; nothing personal), but because he doesn't order her away when she sits on the opposite end of the long, long table.

"Your cooking needs some improving," he remarks during that first dinner together, long after he's whittled his meal down to the bone and licked his fingers with obvious relish.

She places some sliced potatoes on a separate dish and spoons gravy from her own plate over them. When he realizes she's stood up to serve him the extra helping, his eyes widen and stare at her inquisitively.

"I assumed you meant the size of the servings," she says prettily, stopping shy of a curtsy and rounding her eyes into their most innocent look. "Didn't you?"

He scowls, discomposed at having been read so easily, and shoos her back to her seat.

She smirks to herself while her back is to him. Not that she's counting, but this round has gone to her.

xxxxx

17 to 4, that's the score.

It's four more victories than she expected after her arrival.

She smiles at that thought.

xxxxx

"I'm bored," he complains over a glass of wine, searching her gaze from all the way across the table. When their eyes lock, he gives her a wide smile and gestures grandly in her direction. "Entertain me!"

She blinks at him, but her confusion is too short to be relished. The girl actually smiles back, all amusement and spring blossoms, and hurries out of the dining room before he can protest.

(Not that he would. Or perhaps, yes, he would. One has to maintain appearances, you understand.)

A minute passes, and then another; he's reduced to ticking off an imaginary list of neighboring kingdoms he's scheduled to pester, when she rushes back.

"Come, come!" she says, a blush on her cheeks and her eyes bright with excitement.

He hasn't been a monster long enough not to be infected with true enthusiasm. It just happens that most enthusiastic people he meets these days are warrior kings bitter with revenge and short-sighted women led by their whims, from queen to the humblest servant.

"All-righty," he thrills, snapping away just as this woman would have grabbed his wrist. "It better be worth my time!"

She rolls her eyes a little, but there's a quiet fondness under her exasperated response, "If it's not, I will wash the floors from entrance to the back yard."

She does that anyway, he doesn't say.

"In one afternoon," she dares further.

His eyebrow jumps up at her brave little offer. "Won't you be too exhausted to cook for me?"

Her head cocks at his unplanned admission. "For sure," she says at last, already turning away to lead him to whatever she has planned. "But you'll like this."

In the next room, a fire is cackling with merry sparks. He gives it a resentful look, for having stolen so much of Belle's attention.

"Sit," she says, waving a hand toward his favorite seat, which is now positioned a few feet away from the hearth.

He gives her a condescending look - which she answers with a cocked eyebrow of her own (he's such a bad influence, he likes to think) - and with a shrug of his shoulders, follows her direction.

She doesn't waste time in smugness, but hurries to a side table out of his sight and grabs something just to hide it behind her back.

"Well?" he drawls, bending a little to the left for a peek.

She takes a teasing step forward, well aware that her wide skirts are hiding well her secret. "You need to relax."

"I need to be entertained, darling." But he settles down into the soft cushions and waits for her reveal. "Now do it."

She stands in front of him and, without warning, plops down to sit at his feet. It actually startles him - just for a second, of course - and then he shakes his head when he discovers her little treasure. "You'll _read_ to me?"

A happy nod is his answer, and she settles against the side of his chair with the book in front. She is so distracted choosing a story that he feels safe to give in to a smile. They should use this room more often; this very spot, in fact. He likes how the fire warms her skin, brings her blushes more easily onto the surface.

Like when he touches her shoulder with his knee. "Start, woman. We don't have all night."

She gives a tiny shake of her head, and makes him wait another ten seconds before she is satisfied with her choice.

"Once upon a time," she starts.

He snorts under his breath, but is already too comfortable to protest out loud. He may not believe in happiness ever after, but she does, and from time to time, he does enjoy granting her these small victories.

(This is number eighth. He keeps count as well.)

They are worth her smile.

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><p><strong>THE END<strong>

**26/03/13**


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